Honesty
by Jessa4865
Summary: A one-shot... Elliot decides to be honest with Olivia for once. Rated for language, not content.


Honesty

Jezyk

Spoilers: Anything through Season 12, though nothing specific comes to mind as I haven't yet written a damn word of this story yet.

Disclaimer: If I owned them and were making money, I would have been able to pay my credit card bills this month, doncha think?

They'd been having a very busy stretch. Case after case, victim after victim – it seemed like they just couldn't catch a break. Elliot honestly couldn't tell if things were any busier than usual or if he was simply slowing down with age. He suspected it was the latter. Every once in a while, he'd look at Munch and wonder how the older man did it. Elliot was so damn exhausted at night when he left the precinct that he was never sure that he'd be back in the morning, like maybe he'd wake up one day and just decide to roll over and go back to sleep. The thought was tempting.

Especially on days like this. Weeks, really, cause it was Thursday night and Cragen had had a bug up his ass since Monday morning and Elliot was fucking tired of it. Cragen had suddenly and inexplicably gone looking for some old paperwork from one of their cases, only to discover that it hadn't been completed. When the captain had stormed into the bullpen, bitching about how a six-week lag on paperwork was unacceptable, everyone had rolled their eyes and muttered they'd get right on it.

But Elliot wanted to know when the hell they were supposed to do said paperwork. They were already working pretty much every waking moment. They already spent most non-waking hours in the crib between cases. He imagined that Cragen thought they should give up that sleep to make sure that every file was neatly printed and arranged.

Instead of complaining, lest they clue the boss in on the fact that there were a lot of cases a lot older than six-weeks whose paperwork had yet to be completed, the four lead detectives buckled down. They'd come in early, skipped lunch, and stayed late, trying to catch up on as much as they could between calls and bouts of what Elliot felt was "real" police work.

But it seemed that one of the reason Munch had survived in police work so long was that he was all too happy to pawn off the calls and questioning and interviews in lieu of doing paperwork quietly at his desk. He was caught up by Tuesday morning and spent Wednesday helping his partner catch up.

So by Thursday evening, Elliot was left with his partner, who clearly had the same aversion to typing as he did, watching the precinct empty out as he filled out form after form about cases he'd rather have left buried in the past. There was one benefit of having caught up on some of it, he realized, because the stack of folders that normally half obscured his view of his partner was much smaller. He was actually able to see her when he snuck a glance at her, ever appreciative of the fit of her knit shirts over her curves. He was also ever appreciative of the way she'd respond when she invariably caught him with his eyes south of her face. One of her eyebrows would rise the slightest bit, one side of her mouth would curve in a satisfied smirk, and then her eyes would dart quickly over his chest. Her smirk would fade then as her eyes darkened and then they would both look away, recoiling from the fire that threatened to consume them both.

And that, he knew, was the reason why he showed up at work every damn day. Because she would be there. Because she would smile at him in the morning. Because she would smell good when she brushed by him. Because she would, on relatively frequent occasions, cause a shiver to run through his body that made him feel like he was a kid again.

With his concentration hopelessly lost, he turned away from his computer and stretched his arms over his head. His back and neck ached from spending so long hunched over his desk, and while Olivia would tell him he needed to adjust the height of his monitor to prevent that pain, he wasn't worried about it. Truth be told, he hurt less than he did when he got into a sparring match with his locker or a dumpster or a brick wall. And, he remembered as he watched Olivia worry her bottom lip between her teeth, the view from his desk was better too.

She was taking a break too, flipping through the pile of take-out menus and making faces at them. When she noticed her partner's eyes on her, she smiled. "We just had Chinese last night and I swear, I'm going to throw up if we have anymore pizza." She dropped the menus on her desk and sighed. "I'm tired of take-out. I want to go home at a normal hour and eat normal food like normal people."

She was tired, dark circles under her eyes, pale, her makeup from the morning long since faded, rumpled, wrinkles in her sleeves from having them pushed up, disheveled, her hair half out of the ponytail she'd put it in.

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He just stared at her with a smile on his face. Yeah, she was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. And she had no idea.

She narrowed her eyes at his expression, certainly not expecting a smile from him after four days of paperwork. "Any ideas for dinner?"

He shrugged, his stomach the last thing he was thinking about.

She rolled her eyes. "You're a lot of help." Pursing her lips together, she glared at the menus and then turned back to her computer.

Looking around, he confirmed that a small number of people were still around, none close enough to overhear. His smile widened as he sat forward, leaning across the papers on his desk.

"Liv?"

"Huh?" Her eyebrows lifted, indicating that she'd heard him, though he eyes didn't move from her screen and her fingers kept moving over the keyboard.

No matter, he told himself, he'd have her full attention in a minute.

"I love you."

"Ok." She continued to type, her brain concentrating on the task at hand rather than his words.

He waited a beat.

Her fingers faltered in their rhythm. Her eyes dropped down, almost as though she meant to check on why her fingers weren't typing. Her mouth dropped open while her eyes darted back and forth for a moment.

And then, finally, with what appeared to be an equal mix of concern and reluctance, she dragged her eyes to meet his. "What?"

He'd wiped the grin from his face, knowing his blank expression would only serve to further confuse her. Then he nodded toward the hallway and stood, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Let's go out. Italian sound good?"

Baffled, but never one to miss a beat, she stood with a nod. "You buying?"

"Why not?" He fell in step beside her, his hand at the small of her back like always.

As they waited for the elevator, she glanced at him, her eyes moving sideways to his almost shyly. "El?"

"Yeah?" He jabbed the button for the elevator repeatedly, revealing the nerves he thought he'd been doing an admirable job of hiding.

"What did you say back there?" It wasn't her words that reassured him, it was her tone. Curious, nervous, excited, hopeful.

With his confidence restored, he looked at her with a smile. "I asked if you wanted to get Italian."

She looked away, her confusion evident as her eyes kept coming back to him. "Uh, no, before that."

She was adorable. And he figured while he was thinking how cute she was, she was probably thinking what an ass he was. He had to put her out of her misery, put himself in the hot seat for what he'd said.

He met her eyes, willing to face whatever she had to say. "Oh that."

Her eyes narrowed and sharpened, her brain shifting into detective mode as she realized she hadn't been wrong. "Yeah, that."

The elevator finally arrived and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the first floor before turning back to her. He smiled at her, deciding it was a good sign that she was still beside him. "You heard me."

It took a long moment before she nodded. She bit her bottom lip again as she looked down, her mind undoubtedly reeling from having his confirmation confuse her as much as her own uncertainty had. But still, she stayed at his side through the precinct and out the door.

He waited two interminable blocks for her to say something, anything.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Good."

"Good?" And then he knew how he'd made her feel, confused and anxious and anticipating a huge let down. He felt terribly guilty for it.

"Yeah. Good." She smiled at him as she shifted closer, her hand folding around his. Then her shoulder brushed against his as she moved still closer. "I love you too."

He grinned, feeling an unbelievable sense of peace just walking down the street, holding the hand of the woman he loved. "Then I guess it is good."

She was grinning too, as his hand moved from hers and his arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. Her head dropped onto his shoulder. "Told you."

He was going to have to thank Cragen someday.


End file.
